Erza walked toward the edge of the festival, her steps steady, her eyes fixed on the figure beneath the oak tree. The area was quieter here, farther from the noise of the crowd, closer to the field where Yuuta was cooking.
It was a small garden, meant for students who needed a place to read or think or escape the chaos of campus life. But the figure beneath the tree was not reading.
She was not thinking. She was watching.
The figure saw Erza coming.
She saw the moment she noticed her—the way her body tensed, the way her shoulders drew up, the way her hands pressed flat against her sides.
She was afraid. She knew who Erza was. She knew what Erza was. And she was afraid.
Erza stopped in front of her.
The figure was equal to her, her face hidden beneath a hood, her body wrapped in a cloak that did not belong in the summer heat.
She was trying to hide.
She was failing.
"You are Sister Mary," Erza said. It was not a question.
Sister Mary trembled.
Her voice, when it came, was barely audible, shaking with fear.
"My apologies, Miss Sister," she said. "I did not mean to—I was not—please forgive me."
Erza did not move. Her eyes were fixed on her, cold and steady, the eyes of someone who had spent centuries learning to see through lies.
"Why are you here?" she asked. "Come. Sit with us."
Sister Mary froze.
Her hands pressed flat against her sides. Her voice, when it came, was even smaller, even more afraid.
"Please," she said. "I do not hold the authority to sit with your High—"
She stopped.
Her hand flew to her mouth. Her eyes, hidden beneath the hood, went wide.
She had said too much.
She had revealed too much.
She was afraid.
Erza understood.
Her voice was cold, absolute, the voice she used when she was done waiting, when she was done playing games, when she was ready for the truth.
"Who are you?" she said. "And why are you hiding yourself?"
Sister Mary fell to her knees.
It was not a slow fall.
It was not a graceful fall.
It was the fall of someone who had been holding herself together and had finally broken. Her knees hit the grass, her hands pressed flat against the ground, her forehead touched the earth.
She was trembling, shaking, barely able to speak.
"Please," she said. "Please do not be angry, Your Highness. I have sinned greatly. If I have found any favor in your eyes, please forgive this insignificant creature. Please spare me."
Erza's eyes narrowed.
She had known.
She had suspected since the moment she heard her voice, since the moment she felt her presence, since the moment she bowed to her in Yuuta's apartment.
But hearing it—hearing her call her Your Highness, hearing her speak of sins and forgiveness and being spared—confirmed everything.
"You know who I am," she said. "Tell me who you are. And tell me why you are here on Earth."
Sister Mary lifted her head. Her hood fell back. Her blindfold slipped from her eyes.
Erza's breath caught.
They were beautiful.
The most beautiful eyes she had ever seen—darker than the deepest forest at the edges, lighter than spring leaves at the center, green upon green upon green, layered like the rings of an ancient tree. They were old eyes, older than they should have been, older than the face that held them.
They were the eyes of someone who had lived for centuries, who had seen empires rise and fall, who had watched the world change and had changed with it.
"Elf," Erza said.
The word hung in the air between them.
Sister Mary did not deny it.
She could not.
Her ears, hidden until now beneath her hair and her hood, were pointed, delicate, the ears of a creature that did not belong in this world.
"Elf," Erza said again, and this time it was not a statement. It was a question.
Sister Mary bowed her head. Her voice was soft, trembling, the voice of someone who had been hiding for a very long time and was finally being found.
"I am deeply sorry," she said. "I did not recognize the divine being in your presence. I deserve death for my ignorance."
Erza did not respond.
Her mind was racing, trying to process what she was seeing, what she was hearing, what she was learning. Elves did not leave their world. They did not come to Earth. They did not live among humans, raise human children, dedicate their lives to human churches.
Elves hated humans.
They had always hated humans. They considered them inferior, disgusting, a blight on the face of the world. Their hatred ran deeper than any hatred Erza had ever known—deeper than the hatred between dragons and demons, deeper than the hatred between light and dark, deeper than anything she had seen in her centuries of existence.
And yet here was an elf, kneeling in the grass, her head bowed, her eyes closed, her hands pressed flat against the earth. An elf who had raised a human child.
An elf who had loved that child, protected that child, wept for that child. An elf who had come to his college festival to watch him cook.
Erza's voice was quiet, but it carried.
"Why?" she asked. "Why are you here? Why are you disguised as a human? Why do you live among them?" She paused. "And why did you help Yuuta? A human?"
Sister Mary was silent for a long moment. The wind moved through the oak trees, rustling the leaves, carrying the sound of the festival across the garden. The sun was warm on their faces, but neither of them felt it.
When she spoke, her voice was steady, calmer than it had been before. She was no longer begging. She was no longer trembling.
She was simply speaking the truth.
Sister Mary spoke again, her voice trembling, her hands clasped before her as if she were praying for mercy.
"My Highness... please forgive me for not introducing myself properly. I am Mary Magdalen of the Sylvaris Kingdom. I was sent here on a mission."
Erza's patience thinned.
She had been patient.
She had waited.
She had let the elf speak, let her explain, let her kneel in the grass and beg for forgiveness.
But she was done waiting.
"Mission?" Erza's voice was sharp, cold, the voice she used when she was done playing games. "By whom? And why?"
Sister Mary's shoulders tensed.
Her hands, clasped before her, tightened.
Her voice, when it came, was small, careful, the voice of someone who was choosing her words with the care of a person walking through a field of landmines.
"I cannot reveal their name or identity," she said. "I swore an oath. But please believe me—my intentions are pure."
Erza stepped closer.
Her voice dropped to a dangerous whisper, the kind of whisper that preceded death, the kind of whisper that had made kings tremble and armies flee.
She had been connecting the dots since the moment she saw Sister Mary's eyes, since the moment she heard her speak, since the moment she realized that an elf had been living among humans, raising a human child, hiding in plain sight.
"Is it about Yuuta?"
Sister Mary bit her lip. Her eyes, those beautiful green eyes, shimmered with a mix of fear and loyalty. She could not hide this. She could not lie. She could not do anything except bow her head and speak the truth.
"Yes, Your Highness."
Erza felt a chill run through her veins.
The world around her seemed to shift, to darken, to become something she did not recognize. She had known, from the very first day, that something was wrong with Yuuta.
She had tried to look into his past, tried to read his memories, tried to understand where he came from and why he was the way he was.
But something had blocked her. Something had sealed his memories, hidden his past, made it impossible for her to see.
She had thought it was because Earth had less mana.
She had thought her powers were weakened, diminished, less than what they were in her own world. But now she knew the truth.
Someone had cast a spell on him.
Someone had hidden his past.
Someone had made sure that no one could see where he came from or what he was.
Her mind raced, As Dragon Memory Trigger.
She remembered the scars on his back, the ones he had never explained, the ones that looked like they had been there since childhood.
She remembered the strength he had shown in the mall, when he fought Hemanth's men, when he crushed a man's hand and shattered another's face.
He was human. He had always been human. But there was something else. Something hidden. Something waiting.
She took a deep breath.
She was a queen.
She could not lose her composure.
She could not let her emotions control her.
She had to be calm. She had to be cold. She had to be the Blade of Atlantis, the woman who had ruled for centuries, the woman who had faced gods and demons and never flinched.
She raised her finger.
A barrier formed around them, shimmering and faint, invisible to anyone who was not looking for it. It was a soundproof barrier, the kind she used when she did not want anyone to hear what she was saying. She would not miss any questions today.
She would not let Sister Mary hide behind her oaths and her secrets.
"Tell me everything," Erza said. "Why are Yuuta's memories sealed? What is his origin? Is he even human?" She paused. "And if he is human, why would an elf raise him in the human world?"
Sister Mary's voice was steady, but her hands were shaking.
"I cannot reveal all the truth," she said. "I took an oath to not betray my higher rank. But I will answer faithfully, my Queen. I will tell you what I can."
Erza nodded. She asked the question that mattered most.
"Tell me," Erza said. "What is Yuuta's origin? Who is he? And why are you supporting him?"
Sister Mary paused. Her eyes closed. When they opened, they were filled with something that might have been grief or might have been hope.
"Yuuta's origin is unknown," she said. "But certainly, he is human. As we believe."
Erza's voice was sharp. "Human? Then why do his eyes glow? What is wrong with his eyes? he almost look like Children of Chaos."
Sister Mary hesitated. Her lips pressed together. Her hands curled into fists at her sides.
"I apologize, my Queen," she said. "I cannot reveal the origin of his eyes, nor the reason behind them. It falls under the oath I swore."
Erza changed tactics. She was smart enough to know that some questions would not be answered, smart enough to ask the questions that could be.
"Was Yuuta born on Earth?"
Sister Mary's answer came without hesitation. "Certainly not, my Queen. We believe he was born in the Nova World. We found him."
Erza paused. Found him. The words echoed in her mind. The elves had found him. They had taken him. They had brought him to Earth. And they had given him to Sister Mary to raise as a mission. She thought about the elven queen—the only one who could give orders to an high elf like Sister Mary, the only one who could send her on a mission across worlds, the only one who would have the authority to seal Yuuta's past and hide his origin.
"Is the elf queen the one who sent you?" Erza asked.
Sister Mary paused. Her eyes dropped. Her voice was barely audible.
"Yes, Your Highness."
The more Erza asked, the deeper the mystery went. There was no end to it. Yuuta had been sent by the elf queen. He had been rescued from the Nova world. He had been brought to Earth and given to Sister Mary to raise. But why? Why would the elf queen care about a human child? Why would she send one of her own to raise him? Why would she hide him in a world that had no magic, no elves, no dragons?
She thought about the Sylvaris Kingdom, the ancient kingdom of the elves, the kingdom that had stood for millennia, the kingdom that had never interfered in the affairs of humans or dragons or any of the other races that walked the worlds, Now favoring a being who elf hated most.
Erza almost lost her composure. Her hands were shaking. Her heart was pounding. She wanted to scream, to demand, to force Sister Mary to tell her everything. But she was a queen. She had to be calm.
She had to be cold.
She had to be in control.
She fell silent.
Sister Mary watched her, afraid, certain that she was going to die. She had seen the rage in Erza's eyes, the fury, the desperation.
She had seen what happened to people who made the Dragon Queen angry. She had heard the stories. She knew what she was facing.
But Erza did not strike. She did not scream. She did not do any of the things Sister Mary expected.
"I will not force you," Erza said, and her voice was quiet, almost gentle. "I respect the elf oath. But you must understand—Yuuta has committed a grave sin. He is going to die."
Sister Mary's eyes went wide. "Sin? What sin?"
Erza's voice was cold, absolute, the voice of a queen delivering a verdict.
"Five years ago, a human entered the Queen's chamber. He took advantage of her. He assaulted her in her vulnerable state. He made her pregnant." She paused. "My plan to invade Slient lair was halted because of that pregnancy. The sin he committed is unforgivable."
She listed the crimes, each one a stone dropped into still water.
"Entering the royal chamber. Assaulting the queen. Disappearing after committing the crime. Stopping the invasion because of the pregnancy. Daring to mix his blood with the royal dragon legacy."
Sister Mary could not breathe. The weight of the words pressed down on her, crushed her, made her want to fall to her knees and weep.
She had been sent to protect Yuuta. She had been sent to give him a happy life. She had never imagined—she had never thought—that he would commit such sins.
That he would do something so terrible.
That he would put himself beyond saving.
Her mind raced.
How could he? How could the gentle boy she had raised, the boy who cried over burned toast and talked to his Toy when he was lonely—how could he have done something so terrible? She wanted to deny it.
She wanted to believe it was a mistake, a misunderstanding, a lie. But the woman standing before her was the Dragon Queen.
She did not lie.
She did not need to.
Sister Mary's eyes filled with tears.
She looked at Erza, at the woman who had every reason to kill Yuuta and every right to demand the truth.
She had been hiding for so long.
She had been keeping secrets for so long.
She was tired.
But Erza was not finished. Her voice, when it came again, was softer, almost gentle.
"However, I would be willing to reduce his punishment. If you tell me who he is. If you tell me how he came to be."
Sister Mary's heart leaped. Hope, fragile and desperate, flickered in her chest. She looked at Erza, at the Dragon Queen, at the woman who had just offered her a chance to save the boy she had raised.
"Please," she whispered. "Please spare his life."
Erza nodded. Her voice was steady, but her eyes were soft.
"Then speak," she said. "Tell me everything."
Sister Mary took a breath. The barrier shimmered around them. The festival continued beyond, unaware of the secrets being shared in the shadow of the oak tree.
She had kept these secrets for centuries. She had carried them alone, hidden them from everyone who had ever asked. But she was tired. And Yuuta's life hung in the balance.
"I will tell you everything, my Queen," she said. "Everything I know. Please—please spare him."
Erza's heart felt relieved. She did not show it. She kept her face cold, her posture straight, her hands steady. But inside, she was grateful.
She had not wanted to kill Yuuta.
She had been looking for a reason to spare him since the moment he held her hand on that bench, since the moment he searched all night for her ring, since the moment he called her his family.
"Then begin," she said.
To be continued...